


Starry Aquarium

by Ansomniac



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH Rare Pair Week, Action, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Day 3, Fluff, Historical References, M/M, Mutual Pining, Or Day 7 at this point?, Slow Burn, for a one shot, it fits but very loosely, it's a space fantasy!, just the one scene, not the least bit scientific unless you squint, v teeny tiny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 18:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19138426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ansomniac/pseuds/Ansomniac
Summary: Astronomy major Alfred F. Jones has always felt at home with the stars ever since he was a child, and he never knew why. He just assumed it was a natural affinity of his to always aspire reaching for them.One day, a man comes to him with a request—to save the night sky and its stars from impending doom. There, Alfred comes to recognize where he belongs, whom he belongs to, and his own courage.





	Starry Aquarium

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a long time, actually! If you count a long time one week, that is. I spent five days doing research as I write, and two days—including today—to polish it and rewrite it all. I jumped around with writing the scenes, so sorry if you find continuity errors. If you find any mistakes, please let me know!
> 
> The way the story was set up, it was supposed to be pretty long? Probably multichaptered. I just wish I could have done it like that, but for now . . .
> 
> This was supposed to be for Day 3 - Night Sky of APH Rare Pair Week 2019, but it's now Day 7 - Nostalgia! It actually sort of fits that theme, too, since . . . well, you'll know when you see it, but very loosely.
> 
> This was written for one of my very closest friends Mars. It's about time we add on to AmeGre.
> 
> I'll be adding end notes to explain some historical stuff and other such things. If you see similar description throughout, it's deliberate. Happy reading!

Twinkling lights.

One step, two steps. The lights flickered and wavered with each step as they drifted in the air and quaked on the ground. Another step, and the speckles in the darkness surrounded him.

Stars.

Alfred didn’t know how he knew. He could feel them in his toes, in the tips of his fingers; a force like gravity pulled his feet to the glow of the stars. What compelled his tracks forwards, he did not know.

The lights felt . . . familiar.

They felt like home.

He continued forward—that’s what his feet wanted. His body acted as a separate being, separate from his own mind. Even in his own thoughts, though, could Alfred barely control; each conscious, self-aware thought scattered and hissed, reviled and hated by those who chased it away.

One step, two steps. He treaded on nothingness, and the lights followed him.

_Alfred._

A voice called him. He heeded the call.

_Alfred!_

One step, two strides, he broke into a run.

The stars swirled around him.

 _ALFRED!_ _  
_

He was needed. Alfred was needed. He had to get there, he had to help—someone _needed_ him—

He reached out, dashing forward without knowing where to go, why he was wanted, and who—

Then, a face in the sea of darkness.

It was a man of tan complexion, (1) flowing robes over his soft skin and a tired look in his eyes. His hair was longer than a man’s, but Alfred would daresay it had more luster and care than any woman’s hair. He had a glow to him, ethereal and almost divine.

He was . . .

Who was he?

Alfred blinked.

Everything was gone.

He only saw himself in the reflection of his mirror, which sat on the corner of his room.

The voices stopped. The ringing in his ears melted into the singing of birds outside his window. The floor became his mattress, covers thrown on him. It was bright, brighter than it had been.

He dreamt.

Alfred only dreamt, yet he could still feel it; the voice lingered in his mind, although faint, in the background of his conscious thoughts. A cold sweat rimmed his hairline. His heartbeat has not yet calmed, as if confused of the abrupt change in environments. His birthmark also burnt; it always did when he had this dream.

Alfred F. Jones was, as far as he could tell, himself. He was known as the charismatic astronomy major who had many friends and a bright future ahead of him. He was special, but he was also an ordinary person who wanted to live a good life.

Yet why did his dreams felt so close, so . . . nostalgic?

Maybe that’s why he took on astronomy. He always felt at home when he stared at the sky, as if he could be part of it. Times when Alfred laid down in the grass with his brother, Matthew, to gaze into the abyss, he drowned in those depths.

It was a force like gravity.

Alfred had these dreams everyday as a child, which only simmered to a monthly basis as he grew older. It began the same, and it ended the same: the resonating voice that cried for his help, the stars, and his helplessness. He could never save them from the torment.

This time, though . . . it was different.

A new face appeared. Alfred never met anyone else in his dreams before; he only knew himself, the voice, and the stars. He couldn’t say for sure that it was the voice. The boy looked far too tired to yell so urgently, and he wasn’t panicked the way Alfred thought he would be. Instead, his expression betrayed boredom, almost melancholic, a blankness to his stare that couldn’t be discerned.

Despite the void of emotions in his eyes, he was . . . beautiful.

Who was he? Why was he there? What did it all mean?

Alfred couldn’t stay in bed forever. He has to get down for breakfast before Matthew hollered at him, or worse—appear with a bucket on his hands.

He better get down quickly.

 

* * *

 

 

They were walking home when Matthew said, “Al, you seem out of sorts today. Or at least, more so than usual.”

Matthew could always tell if Alfred was off, even in subtle ways that no one—not even their parents—would notice. Perhaps it was the power of brothers, telepathy which Alfred wasn’t privy to, but Matthew had a keen eye. He could pierce through his farces well. Alfred even paid attention in class this afternoon, but his brother could tell something was wrong.

Fortunately, Matthew knows about his dreams. When Alfred was a child, he wept to his brother about them, and, being the more mature of the two, he knew exactly how to soothe his brother. Matthew kept him close, held him tight, and rubbed his searing mark until it didn’t hurt anymore. He listened attentively to the contents of his dreams, and helped Alfred interpret them.

Alfred sighed as he glanced at the road in front of them. “I can tell you when we get home.”

Yellow paint soaked the sky in orange and red hues. The sun dipped low into the murky sea of colors when they returned home.

Inside, Matthew wordlessly prepared dinner while Alfred toed off his shoes and went upstairs to change. Matt knew exactly what to make him.

“I thought you didn’t like big burgers,” Alfred said, eyeing the food on his plate. His brother shook his head.

“I do, but . . . well, not as much as you.” He grinned and looked down to Alfred’s stomach. Alfred shrinked under his gaze but took the burger eagerly. “Now . . . what’s wrong?”

Alfred bit into his meal. “Well, remmber thwis weiwd dweam—”

“Without chewing your food, Al.”

Alfred gulped. “I mean, do you remember what my dreams are like, right?” he continued when Matthew nodded. “Well, something changed . . .”

His brother raised a brow as he lifted his food to his mouth. “Explain?”

Alfred closed his eyes as he tried to conjure the mean’s features. It wasn’t difficult—the details already imprinted themselves in his brain, as if screaming out to him to remember even the finest information, from the curve of his neck to his eyes. He blushed at the thought.

“Oh, Al . . . it’s a wet dream, isn’t it?” Matthew groaned when he finished chewing. Alfred spluttered.

“‘Course not!” he exclaimed. Matthew smiled at him. “I swear it isn’t! It’s just that . . . well, I saw someone. In that weird dream, I mean. A man. He had brown hair and green eyes.”

 _Yet, why do I feel like I know him?_ _  
_

“That _is_ weird,” Matthew agreed with a nod. He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. “I wonder why now.”

 _Why now indeed,_ Alfred thought.

“Maybe you should see what happens tonight,” Matthew said. “I don’t know . . . something might happen again?”

That’s right—would Alfred see this man again? He nearly hoped to, but having a crush on a figment of his imagination—dreams—was a silly thought. He probably conjured his ideal man in his sleep, but instead of a true wet dream, his brain override it with his usual one, albeit into one freak amalgamation.

A strange thought, Alfred admitted.

They finish eating. They had a lively conversation, although Alfred wished his parents were here to give him input on his situation as well. He could call them later, but they were as busy as he was. They barely had time together either, even when they shared the same roof.

“I’m gonna head out to cool my head off,” Alfred informed Matthew, who only responded with a farewell.

Alfred went stargazing when he was stressed. It calmed him, and though he often did it with his brother, they did it less and less together as they grew up. Matthew moved on from watching celestial objects in favor of looking over earthly affairs—animals. Alfred, however, remained interested in the extraterrestrial world.

Sometimes he pondered what it was like out there, away from mortal responsibilities and societal pressures. If he could take flight upon his shoes, he’d join the night sky and become a star himself. It was a silly thought, one he voiced to Matthew before who laughed at him, but he’d take that opportunity if he could. Perhaps he was just a coward and that he wanted to run away from his responsibilities, but who would want to stay on Earth?

He drove his car to the outskirts of the city with a lantern and laid down on the grass just as the sky grew dim, dark, and then nothing. He had to get away from his neighborhood from all the light pollution, which would obstruct the night’s true face. Alfred waited until the stars, shy beings, emerged from the void and glowed for him.

Alfred had no shortage of friends, but the stars . . . they felt like his, too.

He took a deep breath and inhaled the scent of soil and minerals. The warmth of the night descended upon his skin while the wind relieved him with a hint of chill, welcoming their friend back into their home. Blades of grass tickled his exposed arms, neck, and even his ankles.

_This was home._

“You’re not homeless . . . how could this be your home?”

“Well I mean, it’s not _really_ my home, but—”

Wait a minute.

Alfred opened his eyes and turned to the direction of the voice.

There he was— _that_ man in all his glory, still in the same white attire he wore in Alfred’s dreams. There was no one else that he could be. Although he had lost his dreamy quality, an ethereal glow continued to envelop him.

“Y—You’re . . .” Alfred’s words couldn’t escape. Questions fought for power, wanting to voice and leave, but they’ve clogged in his throat.

“Yes, I am.” The stranger reached out a hand, (2) two gold bangles attached to his wrist. “My name’s Herakles.”

Alfred shook it without a thought.

He thought a million thoughts, but at the same time, he couldn’t think at all. The words in his brain jumbled into nonsense, words mixed and stirred until they’re undecipherable.

“You’re in shock.”

Alfred laughed, much too high-pitched than he anticipated or wanted. “Y-Yeah! I mean, d-dude, you were in my dream last night, and now you’re—you’re really pretty and much more in person and oh my gosh I am probably hallucinating right now am I—”

Herakles pressed his hand before he pulled away. A wave of calm descended on Alfred in an instant. How . . . ?

Alfred couldn’t fight the blush on his face from their prolonged handshake, especially since Herakles was _very_ close to him, close enough to hear him breathe. Good thing, though, that he could take advantage of the veil of darkness.

“Alfred, listen to me carefully,” Herakles said. “I know this is sudden, but . . . my people need your help.”

“Uh huh,” Alfred babbled, not aware of what he agreed to as he nodded fervently. He never stuttered, even in the face of good-looking and intimidating people, but there was something about the man’s presence that he can’t pinpoint that made him do a double-take.

“Your dreams . . . are not for nothing,” Herakles explained. “You have a duty, Alfred, as it is written in the stars.”

“A duty?”

Herakles nodded before he continued. “Come with me . . . you need to see things for yourself.”

With that, he tugged Alfred by his hand, who went along in surprise. Alfred was _sure_ that the stranger would hit him, mug him, capture him, _something—_ just not this. Just not this, with arms wrapped around him in an almost gentle way. Just not an embrace.

He was being embraced.

“What are you—”

In a blink of an eye, the world vanished, along with the floor and everything that came along with it—everything but Alfred and Herakles and how they held onto each other. Alfred couldn’t breathe, but fingers traced his back in reassurance as if it made any difference.

That’s when _those_ appeared.

The lights.

They resurfaced gradually, slowly, a hesitant flicker or two before they fully glowed. Before the boy could fully fathom what they were, process it all, the speckles of light stretched beyond his vision, enveloping them like a blanket.

He must be dreaming again. That was the only explanation—a dream within a dream. This couldn’t be true.

The arms tied around him loosened, the source of warmth which skimmed Alfred’s skin detached. Herakles stepped away, completely unconcerned about what had happened as he dusted his robes off. Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but stopped short when he saw Herakles looking beyond his shoulder.

There it was, here it was—back in his dreams, with only the void and the lights and a path which only led forward, the road going back disappearing with each step.

One step, two steps, accompanied by the _pitter patter_ of someone else’s. This time, he wasn’t alone.

Somehow, all the questions died away in Alfred’s mind, and gave way to a calm state; his mouth, which was ready to demand for answers, closed. Instead, a desire to move forward seized him.

“Come, Alfred,” Herakles said. He beckoned to him as he walked steadily on. “You are expected.”

And so he did.

This time, he was led by someone’s hand, warmth in his own clammy one. This time, there was no urgency to heed the call. Herakles wordlessly led him forward without so much as a single indication. Alfred let him.

* * *

 

 

Was this the afterlife? Was this death?

Alfred wish he knew, but no one had ever lived to tell the story. He fretted whether or not there was a divine being out there, truly, or if he would simply die as nothing awaited on the other side.

Though if it was the afterlife, it was beautiful.

Puffy buildings glowed in vibrant blues, purple, and yellow—vague hints, not quite solid, almost silhouettes, submerged in the void. Numerous lights drifted in the air, like the swirling detritus of the ocean. Among the emptiness floated colors of pink and orange, which tainted the purity of black in the form of swirling, whirling bodies.

Alfred could barely breathe. Could he even breathe here at all?

He followed Herakles along the orange road, the star-lamps flickering. One step, two steps.

“. . . Alfred, walk faster,” Herakles called. One step, two strides.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Alfred tried to take a deep breath as he surveyed, but he stopped short. “Wow. Am I dead?”

For the first time, Herakles smiled a fraction. “I hope not.” It went away as quickly as it came, and he turned around to continue moving. Alfred went to catch up. “This is the city of the stars, πόλη των αστεριών . . . my mother’s city.”

“Your . . .  mother?” Alfred asked. Herakles did not respond.

Even when darkness shrouded the world, voices hung in the air, mutters in a foreign language. Even the buildings wavered and swayed, as if the city itself was alive. The clamor of noises, despite the nothingness around him, made even an open expanse feel lived in and crowded. Alfred didn’t know where to find the sources of the voices. He nearly tripped forward when a man sounded close to his ear.

Herakles greeted “people” as they walked, but Alfred couldn’t see anyone when he did; only the hovering lights came near. He could hear conversations between a person and Herakles, but never the person themselves.

He brushed it off to auditory hallucinations.

The path stopped at gates of clouds, the most solid of structures among the dreamy metropolitan. The rungs of the gates shined, and when Alfred reached out to touch it, it remained rigid. However, as Herakles approached, it all but dissolved into a mere wisp.

Alfred gaped. “Dude, that’s amazing!”

Herakles said nothing; he merely gestured for Alfred to follow and climbed the smoky staircase leading to another set of doors. Just as it was at the front gates, however, the doors immediately opened at his presence.

(3) Alfred and Herakles passed by towering, nebular columns. Alfred didn’t expect a palace to be built this way; although grand, it had several layers and structures and spread out on a hilltop. A sprawling palace, almost. Herakles led him through a maze of hallways, and they stopped at a small room with an even smaller throne.

(4) It wasn’t unoccupied; sat on the throne was a woman, with eyes comparable to Herakles’, even a similar tone of skin and hair. Her white tunic mirrored the man’s, cascading down to her legs.

“You’re Alfred, are you not?” she said, a smile on her lips. “Come closer.”

Whether or not he wanted to, Alfred moved on his own; he approached the queen as the eyes of wispy figures in surrounding benches followed. When he came close enough, the woman stood from her seat and closed the distance.

Up close, the parallels between her and Herakles became even more apparent.

She must be his mother—the one he mentioned.

“You’ve lived a mundane life thus far,” she spoke. “Yet you’ve never lost the gleam in your eyes.”

Alfred blinked. She looked at him so fondly, and yet he didn’t know why. “Who are you?”

(5) "The ἄνασσα, Ελενη. You can call me Queen Helene."

“Queen . . . Helene,” Alfred repeated, testing the words on his tongue. Somehow, the name sounded familiar, even though he had never met a noble in his life, let alone a queen whose name was Helene. It must be his brain again. He dismissed that thought in favor of asking, “What do you want from me?”

“Now, that’s a question.” She maintained her smile. “I will tell you—but please, won’t you dine with us tonight? We feast in honor of your arrival.”

“I . . . um, I’m really not that big of a deal,” Alfred babbled. “And uh, I don’t know what’s happening right now. Am I dead?”

He never thought he could bring a queen to laugh, but today was full of firsts. Her eyes crinkled with mirth. “No, my dear boy, you’re not. I’ll answer your questions in due time. Please, rest while we prepare.” She peered beyond his shoulder. “My son will assist you for the time being.”

All Alfred could do was nod, for what else? It’s not like he had a lot of options. They held him in high regards, though, so maybe he could use that.

(6) Herakles led him to his room, already set up. Lights filtered through the small windows, pouring on to the bed situated across the room. The room itself was decorated moderately, neutral to the tastes of its guests. Even here murals lined the walls, as with the rest of the palace, and columns held the ceilings aloft.

“You’ll be sleeping here during the duration of your stay,” Herakles informed. “If you need something . . . just just call.”

“Staying?” Alfred said. He gave Herakles a hard look. “What do you mean, _stay here?_ I have to go back to my brother sometime—he’ll worry for me!”

At that, the man looked uncertain. Alfred couldn’t help but twiddle with his fingers, too, thinking of a silent prayer.

“That . . . my mother will explain it to you later, but you can be sure . . . that will not be a problem,” Herakles assured.

Alfred could only nod. He moved to the bed to sit down, and although not as high and lofty as the one back home, he could appreciate it for what it was. It faced the windows, and he could almost imagine the sunlight on his skin, where the sun would exist. Gradually, he leaned back, and took notice of how fast his mind raced as he tried to grasp everything.

He didn’t know why he was so tired, but he _was_ supposed to be asleep around this time. He couldn’t resist letting his eyes flutter and close as he fell into a deep slumber. Before he fully succumbed, he could hear footsteps and the door shut.

 

* * *

 

The banquet hall was near the throne room, upstairs in the west wing of the palace, or so Alfred was told. He awoke to Herakles who reminded him of the feast, and they went together.

It wasn’t the usual table-seat arrangement Alfred was used to; instead, he entered the room with lounges in the corners of the room while the center had a glass ceiling surrounded by columns. Chatter and laughter filled the hall, soft music in the background playing from somewhere he didn’t know.

A servant approached Herakles and Alfred. “Queen Helene expects both of you in the back.”

Herakles dismissed her and made their way to the lounge. Alfred passed by servants plying nobles as they sat around with fruits. _So this is the life_ _of nobility . . ._ Alfred thought as he eyed the scene.

They reached the recline of Queen Helene, and this time, she was alone with her servants, three empty couches nearby. At the sight of her guest and her son, she smiled brightly. “You’ve come! Please, help yourselves to a seat.”

While Herakles took the liberty to sit back, Alfred could only awkwardly sit upright on his own bench. He tried to wave off the girls attempting to feed him the fruits and took it from them instead. If this was unusual behavior, neither Herakles nor Queen Helene spoke of it.

“So, Alfred,” Queen Helene began. “I had hoped to see you for so long. We’ve anticipated your arrival for years, perhaps decades, but even now, I find myself surprised you’ve finally come.”

Alfred could barely meet her in the eyes. He plucked a piece of grape from the bunch he was holding. “Well . . . um, why me? How did you know it was me for like, so long?” He looked up a little, although not in the eye. “Who really are you, and what is this place?”

“This is the city of the heavens, where the stars reside—and as the northern star, I am the queen.” The queen easily said this as the servants tended to her appetite. She sat back so relaxed that it was uncanny how naturally she said these unnatural things. “All those who live here belong to the sky, only revealed at the darkest of times. We’ve known of your arrival for so long, of course, because we are privy to information beyond those of humans.”

“Surely?” Alfred asked, uncertain.

A woman handed the queen a cup, and she came around to offer one to Alfred, who politely refused. “Oracles are much less cryptic to beings less susceptible to corruption, such as us. You see, Alfred, we are being threatened by . . . something greater than us.”

 _Greater than the stars themselves?_ Alfred thought. Such a thought made his stomach ache—after all, if they can’t solve the problem, who can, really?

“You,” Queen Helene answered. Alfred blinked and turned to her. This time, the solemn expression she had on formerly gave way to a determined look. “You can solve this for us.”

Alfred shook his head. “You can read my mind?—wait, the more important question is, how can I? _Why me_?”

Herakles kept quiet. He watched, mildly interested, as he allowed his attendants to serve him. His eyes flicked over to his mother at this question.

"Well, Alfred, as to how—we shall find out,” Queen Helene answered. She rose from her recline to sit upright, facing Alfred fully now. “But why you, specifically—we shall also find out. However, I can tell you with confidence that you are not any ordinary being.”

No ordinary being? When has he ever been . . . not normal?

“You’re a Starchild, a rightful citizen of this city; you possess powers of one of us, yet you take on the form of a human.” She turned to her servants and, after a quiet conversation, fled from the scene. “That does make you . . . somewhat special. Not quite uncommon, but special, like my son and my servants. You may be the one who can save us from a threat to our city.”

“A threat to your city,” Alfred repeated uneasily. _A threat to their city. If her son and her were already so special, why can’t they just fix this themselves?_ “I still don’t get it. How am I a Starchild? I’m from another world!”

His memories couldn’t have been fake. His days of laughter, pain, and normality formed cracks within them, easily mended but impossible to completely fix. He was unsure of what to believe in anymore.

“Alfred, you’re losing yourself to your thoughts,” Queen Helene said, briefly pulling him away from his tortuous thoughts. “You must listen to me, and then you can make your judgments.”

All he could utter was a meek “okay.” He picked at his bunch of grapes absentmindedly. He could not see the queen, but he could sense that she relaxed at that.

“I’m glad you see reason. I’m going to need that for what I’m going to say next.” Her seat creaked. “Now . . . well, the entire city is being threatened by a Dark Star—one that can consume a city whole. A foe with no feelings . . . only the need to consume.”

 _An entire city could disappear with just one of them?_ Alfred mused. _Although that does make sense—black holes even have the potential to swallow entire galaxies._

“And how do we defeat this Dark Star? The only way they go is . . . waiting, or a time machine. Stephen Hawking suggested they evaporate on their own but—that’s not what you wanted, is it?” Alfred glanced at Queen Helene’s feet, avoiding her gaze.

Queen Helene moved a little to look at her son. “I don’t think I know who this Stephen Hawking is, but . . . even as this beast will go away on its own in time, it will not be in time for our destruction. We do not have the magic of the ancients to speed this process, either; even then, the effects will be . . . devastating.” She shook her head. “No, there is an even simpler solution: we strike the creature at its event horizon.”

(7) “But your Majesty,” Alfred said, aware of the sweat he had accumulated on his hairline, “it’s not that simple. Matters such as angular momentum, the charge of-”

She raised a hand to stop him. “Trust me, my dear boy. I’ve fought these same beasts before, killed them all the same—I’ve just grown old; I’m in no condition to take upon a weapon again.” She looked towards Herakles. “Moreover, this is no ordinary Dark Star, and it cannot be slayed with my son alone.”

Her son this, her son that . . . Alfred wasn’t even sure why he was here, or why he should care at all. A part of him whispered that this was his destiny, that he was meant to save others, like he had always wanted—but never imagined it to be like this. To have the fate of so many lives—stars?—upon his shoulders . . . he thought the idea of it would be empowering, not _terrifying._

Alfred didn’t even know who he was anymore.

“You”—the queen points at him—”are a Starchild. Be proud of who you are, don’t shy away, Alfred. You are destined for greater things, things that will save the city from greater evil. Don’t ever forget that.”

All Alfred could do was play with his fingers. Ever since he was a child, he wanted to be a hero who could face foes without fear; he wanted to save the people he loved, to fight for what is right. Yet even now, when he was presented the opportunity to be part of something good, all he felt now was helpless, alone, and ultimately powerless.

He was a coward.

“I’m sorry—” Alfred got up from his seat. He shook his head and bowed to the Queen Helene. “I don’t feel so well tonight. I have to go back to my room.”

Queen Helene’s eyes protested, but her mouth didn’t. Instead, she only nodded. That was all the permission Alfred needed to hastily put away his utensils back on the table and stand up to skulk away into the hallways. If he could remember where his room was, though . . .

Almost immediately, Alfred could hear footsteps behind him. He didn’t bother to face them; he knew who it was.

“Go away, Herakles,” Alfred muttered. “I’m going to my room.”

“Alfred, wait a moment,” Herakles said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Alfred kept walking, didn’t turn to look at him. He wandered around, all the while combing his mind to remember where he came from, but it was hard to think when he was also trying to outrun someone else. He couldn’t even pretend to look like he belonged around here; he was hopelessly lost.

“I apologize for bothering you, but it’s urgent . . . I can lead you back to your quarters if you talk to me.”

He didn’t recall having a door there, a window on the side, and the number of columns around the area doesn’t look similar to the path he undertook. He sighed and, for the first time, he turned around. “Fine. What is it?”

Herakles frowned, although his eyes remained vacant. It was almost bored, perhaps spiteful, but not unkind. “I wanted to ask . . . have you changed your mind about staying here?”

 _Oh, so now they care about my opinion_ . Alfred crossed his arms. “When did my feelings ever matter to _you_ ? All anyone does around here is drag me around and—and expect me to accept or _understand_ it all, and I _don’t_ , Herakles. I don’t know anything, and it’s really screwing me up.” He sighed. “Won’t _you_ give me an answer?”

Herakles opened his mouth and, after a few moments, he closed it. He stood, silent, staring at Alfred as Alfred stared back at him. Alfred nearly turned around again to continue finding his room on his own when Herakles finally spoke up. “. . . I did not know you feel that way. I’m sorry.”

When he said it so sincerely, Alfred couldn’t hang on to his feelings of anger for too long; what was left, instead, was confusion, and all he could do was deflate and look away. “I didn’t mean to snap at you either; I’m sorry, dude.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t really want to stay here, and as strange as the situation is for me . . . you guys really do seem like you need my help. I don’t know how, really, but I’ll do my best, okay?”

A rare smile blossomed on Herakles again. Alfred was tempted to keep that there, or to take a picture as proof of its existence, that it was possible to move a seemingly calm man to unbridled happiness and relief. He had only seen him smile twice, but he was determined to see it again. “Thank you. Follow me.”

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred’s slumber had been relatively peaceful, all things considered; he was out like the light the moment he hit his bed, his body desperate for rest. It was one of his rare nights of restful sleep.

It didn’t last for too long, though.

He woke up when a lady banged on the door with his name on her lips. Alfred grunted and, after five minutes of continuous knocking, he finally rose.  Disheveled, he swung the door open to greet the servant.

“Sir, his Majesty is looking for you outside in the fields. He says it’s urgent,” she informed.

Alfred muttered under his breath. Of course it was. “I’ll be down there in a jiffy.”

“In a jiffy” was, in truth, more than just. He dragged his feet and stumbled into his clothes. It was as if he was in a strange trance, his body on the move but not his mind. Even as he supposedly “urgently” threw his shirt on himself, he was busy chasing remnants of a forgotten dream.

It was supposed to be morning, but it was still dark outside. The city hosted the only lights beyond the palace, as he could see in the distance, populated by stars which resided in the void.

However, he managed to catch Herakles’ figure among the illuminated lights, sitting on the ground outside the palace.

“Did you need something?” Alfred asked. He glanced over to the swords lying on the ground, an almost ethereal quality to them. If he angled his head, they would glimmer.

Herakles rose from his position, picked up one of the weapons, and tossed it to Alfred. “I’m going to teach you . . . to fight.”

“Fight?” Alfred spluttered. The prince shrugged.

“You’re going to fight the Dark Star . . . right?” Herakles grabbed his own and, with a deft hand, swung it to test. Satisfied, he lowered it. “I will teach you.”

Fighting . . .

Alfred never wielded a sword, but he did have experience with guns. It was different, of course, but he hoped that meant it would give him an edge with learning—he was no stranger to the dexterity of his hand. He better learn fast; they’re on a deadline, after all.

Despite that, he never used a weapon against anyone. To finally use it on an enemy so large . . .

“Right, okay!” Alfred grinned and swung the sword. He imitated one of the positions he saw his favorite anime characters use. “Like this, right?”

"You don't wield your sword like that," Herakles chastised. Alfred tried not to look disappointed, although he could not help showing it a little. His trainer sighed and stepped over. "Here . . . your stance should be like this."

He hid behind Alfred and took his arms, adjusting it as necessary. He also nudged his legs accordingly.

This wasn’t intimate, not at all. Alfred had sports tutors who came even closer than this—yet he can’t control the pink dust on his cheeks. There was no man quite like Herakles, piercing eyes as he focused and a calm demeanor. Alfred tried to steel himself and turn his attention to the lesson, but all he could think about was the skin on his.

"This is good form. I'll show you how to swing a sword . . . do your best to replicate it, okay?" Herakles asked. His voice was close to his ear, so close that it tickled. Alfred nodded absentmindedly, not really paying attention as he was still distracted by their proximity. He sighed when Herakles pulled away to actually get down to the demonstration of the art of sword fighting, although he shook his head to dismiss those thoughts from his mind.

Maybe he can ask him out after all this is over, who knows?

 _Who am I kidding, I'm out of his league,_  Alfred thought bitterly as Herakles began his instructions. _He's the prince of this place, for heaven's sake, and much cooler than I am._

"Are you listening to me?" Herakles asked. Alfred hastily acquiesced.

They spent the afternoon just like this; they practiced forms, techniques, all the ways to take down a Dark Star. Alfred was a natural hand at this, or so Herakles said, but Alfred did feel attuned to the blade he swung.

Perhaps it was destiny, written in the stars.

Herakles even sat him down to teach him the magic of the ancients afterwards, although he had Alfred promise not to use it carelessly.

That evening, Alfred collapsed into bed and dreamt about a city of stars, a romantic interest and his fate to become their greatest hero.

 

* * *

 

The next few months was just like that.

Alfred would awake early in the morning by the same annoying servant, head outside, and pick up a sword. He’d train with Herakles, clash swords for a few times, and return home after dinner when an attendant asked for their presence.

He missed Matthew.

He thought about him a lot; Herakles said time did not pass while he was here, and if Alfred were to return home, nothing would have changed at all. That would be strange—having months worth of tales to tell, but none that would be credible for anyone sane. He didn’t age physically, couldn’t, but mentally, he felt otherwise.

What helped him cope, though, was Herakles.

God, he was head over heels for this man.

It started out as a harmless crush; Herakles was nice to look at, as beautiful as the queen but much younger, and he accompanied Alfred wherever he wished. Alfred was unsure why Herakles did so, but he never questioned it, almost took it for granted.

He forgot when he started paying attention to all the little details. Even when Herakles was the prince himself, he was the one who rose early in the morning to train Alfred. He was the one who polished his sword, urged him to take a break when he was at his limit, chatted with him when there was no one else around.

It was hard not to fall in love.

One night when they rolled into the ground, panting and gasping for breath as they dropped their swords, Alfred turned to Herakles next to him.

Seeing him there made him remember the first time he met him, underneath the starry sky. He never lost his ethereal quality, but Alfred’s perspective has shifted; he wasn’t as unreachable as he thought he was. He was more . . . human than the first time he saw him, or at least it felt that way—it was probably because Alfred spent so much time around him. Even if Herakles wasn’t as gorgeous as he was, Alfred would have still thought he was beautiful under the glow of nearby lights.

Wearily, Herakles smiled up to him. It was rare to see him not even try to hide it.

“Thank you, Herakles,” Alfred whispered to him. Herakles huffed a chuckle.

“For what? Teaching you? Herakles asked.

“For being here.”

They both accidentally slept on the ground right then and there, huddled together. They awoke to a letter scrawled by a servant.

 

* * *

 

Alfred only wished that their happy moments lasted longer.

It happened unexpectedly.

One moment, he was laughing and jeering at Herakles. The next moment, he was hastily reaching for his sword in anticipation of the Dark Star.

Goosebumps rose on his skin, and he shivered.

Oh. It was huge.

That, of course, was a wild understatement; the creature stretched nearly the entirety of the horizon beyond. Alfred’s heart beat wildly in his chest as he stared at it, stared at his death.

His feet felt weak. He was such a coward. How could he face this? He had felt so confident before—why now?

Then, a hand within his own. It squeezed his hand in reassurance.

He turned to Herakles, who looked at him squarely in the eye.

That’s right—he needed to stay strong. Not only for all the stars in the sky, not only for Queen Helene, not only for himself or for his brother, but for Herakles. Herakles, who had been willing to jump into the fray with him and risk his life. Herakles, who had been by his side all this time.

For him, Alfred could be strong.

"Herakles,"  Alfred murmured. "You need to stay here."

Herakles shook his head. "No, I can help you . . . I have more experience."

"But you're the crown prince of this city, aren't you?" Alfred smiled humorlessly. "Your people need you here."

When the prince opened his mouth once more, Alfred tried to give him a stern look. Herakles was quiet, quieter than usual, but he settled on a nod. Without further delay, Alfred ran to the city at breakneck speed.

If he had looked back even once, he would have known that Herakles had followed him.

He jumped and avoided the disarray of rubble around them as the debris flew away as soon as he went in. Alfred could almost feel himself being sucked into the Dark Star himself, but he muttered under his breath a spell which kept him grounded. The force remained strong, and he held on to a stable nearby object to keep himself from being swept away.

Alfred readjusted his grip on his sword, trying to ignore the rush of blood in his ears as he examined the Dark Star.

_Alfred, stay strong. Think about everything that has led up to today, everything that you’ve been fighting for._

He took the sword within both of his hands. It was now or never.

Alfred had always wanted to take flight upon his shoes and become one with the stars himself, just to escape from his problems. As he muttered the spell he recalled from his lessons, he could feel his soles lighten until he hovered above the ground. Now, all he wanted now was to use this strength to stop running away from his problems, to tie his shoes and face his evils.

He leaped from the ground, and then he was away.

Alfred brandished his sword, a glimmer in the nonexistence of light. With a yelp, he sliced into the Dark Star. As expected, it sliced through like air; it did little harm but smudge the black paint. He retreated, pulling away only to charge back in with another slice. Again, to no effect.

That was all the reassurance he needed.

He knew normal punches and hits wouldn't work; in fact, it only seemed to fuel it on, and the Dark Star lunged for Alfred. He only narrowly avoided its large hands—he knew being caught meant being thrown into its void of a mouth.

It was a quiet sort; it did not growl, make any of the mundane noises Alfred thought a monster would. In a way, that was more intimidating—it was hard to imagine that it was a creature, a living being at all. It felt nothing but the desire to consume.

Despite its seeming invincibility, it did have a weakness—its Event Horizon, the center of a Dark Star.

If only he could strike it . . . he would run the risk of being scooped in its large hands.

He stared up at the mouth of the creature, and—and he found nothing.

Infinite nothingness? Was that where he belonged soon?

The thought made him tremble.

S _tay strong, Alfred—you can be strong, I believe in you!_ he thought, clutching his arm while his grip on the sword became harder to maintain. W _here was all your bravado in real-life? Weren't you Alfred F. Jones, the ideal American?_

Despite all that, he was a coward. Here was a sword in his hand, the chance to defeat the Dark Star, yet not the courage to do so.

It was . . . so big.

He clenched his fists.

 _Stay focused! Think of your brother who would laugh at you, or that stupid British who calls you an idiot._ He leaped off the ground again, readying his sword once more. _Think about those girls who would throw themselves at you!_

This time, he felt faster. Many have rumored how not even light can escape a Dark Star, but Alfred F. Jones could. For a extremely large being, its hands were dexterous and swift, and could easily catch flies known as humans. Only, Alfred was a more annoying fly.

Each time the Dark Star threw a hand towards Alfred, his confidence rose. The adrenaline rushed to him, and he could evade each attack expertly, grasping all the training Herakles did for him.

He really did owe him everything . . .

And an opportunity came.

The Dark Star pulled away from its core just long enough to be the window Alfred needed to get close to the core.

_This is my chance!_

He kicked himself forward, hurtling into the center of the Dark Star with his sword pulled away for the hit, when-

Those hands appeared.

They nearly closed him in, engulfed him completely until he was caught within its fingers.

Nearly.

By some miracle, something or someone pushed him away from the hands. Alfred was sent flying into the ground. Although it hurt, it was a better alternative than being caught.

He looked back in time to see what had pushed him instead.

He saw a flash of brown, a person like himself, get swatted away into the distance by the Dark Star. Distantly, he could hear the breaking of bones and buildings.

Alfred saw it, too—the cracks forming in the Event Horizon of the Dark Star. The creature staggered backwards, clutched at its chest.

It was distracted again. It was also Alfred's last shot.

One more time, he bounced off the ground. He surprised himself with how little hesitation he did it this time, even though his earlier attempts had failed. Alfred went straight back in, despite everything.

Maybe, just maybe, he had grown brave.

With his sword pointed forward, he charged into the dazed Dark Star and struck.

 

* * *

 

Alfred panted as sweat dripped down his chin.

Never, in a million years, did he anticipate that he could take down a monster as large as this. Of course, he always thought of himself as talented in the athletic department, but enough to take down the very beast which threatened the sky? This was beyond his wildest dreams.

He stood over the collapsed body, its figure falling apart as the entity fizzled away. He stared at it for a long time, and he watched it turn to dust.

Yet there was something else he missed—something he couldn't have, shouldn't have.

That flash of brown . . . That person. It can't  be . . . ?

Herakles.

One step, two steps.

"Herakles?"

One step, two strides, and he broke into a run.

"Herakles!"

He hastened to the rubble of nebular matter and began to claw his way through it. Herakles was in there, trapped. He must be alone, he must be afraid to he in there; Herakles could be unconscious, though, or he could he . . .

He could be dead.

Alfred tore at it all.

Herakles, with his stupid smile which he rarely put on and should have put on more. Herakles, who was distant yet held his hand in comfort and embraced him like it had meant the world. Herakles, who was a man of little words, yet the man who spoke the loudest. Herakles was here, beneath the rubble, unmoving.

Alfred could not find him. He shoved a piece away until it uncovered that telltale curl. His curl.

He was a man possessed as he pushed everything off him.

"Herakles, are you alive?!" Alfred yelled, his chest heaving and desperate for air. The man did not move. "Herakles!" Alfred repeated.

He picked the brunette up and set him down somewhere else. He leaned over him, shaking him violently in an attempt to wake him up.

Herakles looked strangely peaceful. He had long eyelashes.

Alfred reached over to his neck. His pulse was weak.

"Herakles, don't die on me," he hissed. "I will never forgive you if you die, because I . . .” he shook his head.

He picked up Herakles' body and carried him away.

 

* * *

 

Alfred buried his face into his arms as he kneeled over the bed.

Stupid, stupid Herakles. Why did he have to go and be the hero? That was Alfred’s job, not his. It should have been him out there, fighting for his survival, fighting to even breathe. It should have been him who came out from the battle war-torn, beaten and battered and unable to stand. He hadn’t meant for it to be Herakles. It wasn’t meant for Herakles.

He buried his face in even deeper. _God_ , he could have done something. He _should_ have done something. There were so many things that he could have done, so many things that could have gone differently, and yet they didn’t. Here Alfred was.

That’s when the door creaked open. He looked up to find Queen Helene, her face solemn, and—oh, so this was how he fell apart. All she had to do was say the word, deliver the news, and he would be ruined.

He had always been dramatic, but if Herakles were to die . . . was it possible to love again?

“Please, your Majesty . . . just tell me,” Alfred spoke softly. “It would hurt anyway. So . . . just tell me.”

She opened her mouth.

“Herakles will be okay.”

Alfred must have misheard. Her face has not changed, she had not moved. She was still there, her expression calm.

Or, well, perhaps that’s just how she was.

“Did you say . . .”

“Yes I did,” she answered. “My son will heal, and soon. You needn’t worry for him.”

Just like that, she did activate the magic words, but only released all the tension and anxiety which broiled in Alfred’s chest. He swore he could see colors again.

He laughed. He must sound like a lunatic.

“Thank God,” he whispered to himself. “Thank God.”

He buried his face into his arms again, and fell asleep at the foot of his bed.

 

* * *

 

 

Alfred did not see Herakles for a day. The queen advised him to allow him to rest for awhile before he went out. In the meantime, the city prepared for a grand feast after he recovered, which Queen Helene asked they have before he went on his way home.

“Surely you don’t want to live here?” she had asked him. He smiled ruefully.

“Sorry, your Majesty, I’ve got a brother and some friends back at home. I can’t leave them behind.”

Everyone gathered in the banquet hall, and a swarm of lights wafted in the air as the other Starchildren talked among themselves. They gave Alfred plenty of wine and bread and—well, there was no shortage of women. None at all.

Yet, there was something—someone—missing from the party. Alfred only caught a glimpse of a person slip out of the banquet hall.

“That’s likely my son,” someone said behind him. He turned around to see the solemn expression of Queen Helene, who approached his side. “It’s rare for him to skip out on wine . . . as reclusive as he seems, he’s actually quite social.”

“Him?” Alfred repeated. He couldn’t quite picture that, but if he was anything like his mother, it was possible. She nodded.

“He must not be feeling well . . .” she glanced at him. “Although I think I know why.”

“You do?”

“Herakles . . . while he does have many acquaintances, he usually spends his time somewhere else, with someone else.” Queen Helene sighed. “Maybe it was my own doing that made him fall in love with you . . . but I asked him to watch over you since we received news of the prophecy.”

Alfred froze. “Did you just say . . . Herakles has been watching me this whole time?”

The woman smirked. She waved her glass around and took a sip before she responded. “Did you know? My son has always watched you—long before you’ve known him. That’s why he was so willing to help you.” She nodded to the exit. “You should go talk to him.”

Fortunately, that had been his plan all along. As he excused himself from the merrymaking, he successfully escaped. Although the palace was vast, he could rely on the one place he would be at.

Right outside in the field.

Herakles was on the dark ground, sat down as he looked into the city’s lights. With the pitter patter of Alfred’s footsteps, he briefly glanced back before he looked away again—that was as far as his greeting went. Alfred sat next to him.

“Hey, so . . .” Alfred began. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, let alone why he came here. He just knew he wanted to be with him. “I leave tomorrow, huh? I’m really going to miss— . . . I’m really going to miss the city.”

He did, of course; if he focused hard enough, he could even hold a conversation with the stars. They sounded like normal people in his mind, although they couldn’t say things aloud. They were friendly the few times he spoke to them, though. Moreover, the place really was a sight to see; he could walk along its glimmering streets for hours and never get bored. He never got the chance to venture out often, but when he did, Alfred made sure to linger for as long as he could.

Despite what Alfred said, though, Herakles kept quiet.

It continued like that for a few moments, with barely a noise to even fill in the awkward silence between them.

Alfred didn’t want to end things like this. He didn’t want to say goodbye to Herakles—not this way. He had so much to say, so much to thank for and reminiscence about, but he couldn’t even voice them all. He was a man who could take on the largest of Dark Stars, but perhaps this was where he could not even find the courage to muster his feelings.

Until—

"Do you really have to go?" Herakles whispered. It was faint; he nearly missed it. The words tasted hesitant, the voice unsteady.

Alfred turned to Herakles this time, who still hasn't deigned to meet him in the eye. Instead, he looks into the distance, into the void and swirly images that barely existed. Alfred wished he could behold his green eyes, although they were as vacant as the night without the stars.

"I do," he answered. "My brother's waiting for me . . . my life has always belonged there."

If a person with a less practiced eye was with Herakles, they would not notice the minute slump of the shoulders as he uttered those words. They wouldn't find the flicker of disappointment, hurt and sadness which lingered in that green night, all in less than a second.

Somewhere within Alfred, he hoped Herakles wouldn't let him go. He had a life out there, but in reality, he had given himself to Herakles in the time that he knew him. His heart belonged to him; he would go with Herakles, so long as he said the word.

(8) "σὲ ἀγαπῶ," Herakles said, even fainter than last time. I love you.

Alfred smiled. "I love you too.”

This time, the man turned to Alfred with eyes like saucers, with a hint of light within them as if he came to life. He laughed.

Alfred closed the distance between them and took Herakles in his arms. For the first time, Herakles buried his head in his shoulder. Alfred sighed at the contact, and stroked his lover's back rhythmically.

As far as Alfred knew, Herakles had never been selfish. In fact, he rarely desired anything other than a nap and the company of his cats. He always looked out for him and never demanded for anything in return, citing it as his duty or part of his culture. He wouldn't even accept food in the middle of winter—he wasn't one for charity.

Yet he said, "Please don't leave me."

And Alfred didn't. He only hung to him tighter, tried to soothe him when his body trembled.

"I'll come with you," Herakles continued.

This time, Alfred pulled away slightly to look at him. Herakles face gave away nothing but solid determination, shadow spilled on to his features underneath a dark sky.

"What about your parents?" Alfred asked. As much as he wanted to take the man with him and to live a happily ever after, he didn't want to pull him away from his duties.

Herakles shook his head. "They don't need me here . . . You need me."

"I do, but you can't just abandon your responsibilities here." The blond peered at him curiously.

"Trust me, Alfred. I know someone else who will take over . . . and my mother will allow me. I promise." Alfred did trust Herakles. He nodded. Herakles smiled a fraction. "Will you have me?"

"I'm surprised you even have to ask!" Alfred exclaimed. He pulled away, but sought for his boyfriend's hand. He clasped it and offered a grin. "Shall I save the princess from the castle now?"

"That's very Western," Herakles said, "but yes . . . you may."

 

* * *

 

(9) As it turned out, Sadık was the one to take over the reigns when Queen Helene was gone.

“I don’t mind,” Queen Helene had told Alfred, before he went. “I actually expected this, from the moment he began to become enamored with the idea of you. Moreover, my son never really liked the idea of handling the city . . . as much as he loves it, he’s only interested in preserving my memory and traditions. He would’ve done a good job with becoming the king, but he wouldn’t be at his happiest—not without you.”

Herakles did not get along with Sadık, as far as she explained, but she knew them both to be good people. Moreover, when Alfred asked Herakles, Herakles merely said, “I don’t hate him.”

  1. Alfred was sure there was more to it than that when he saw Herakles stare at the new heir a moment longer than usual, but he held his hand and led him away.



Back home, Matthew dropped the dish he was cleaning when Alfred came with Herakles in tow, claiming, “Meet my new boyfriend!” Even Herakles gave him a stern look.

In the end, Herakles and Alfred had to fabricate an entire story of how they met in the span of thirty minutes outside and why Herakles needed a place to stay. As much as Alfred wanted to tell Matthew everything, his story would probably only fall on deaf ears.

That night, he slept next to Herakles after he suggested to Matthew that they should sleep on a bed. Alfred still felt strange being back to normal, trying to act like everything was normal when there was _living evidence_ of his entire adventure; when he held Herakles' hand under the covers, though, he calmed. Everything was going to be okay. He knew it would be, with Herakles with him.

It was one of his rare nights of restful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So, gross, I finally finished this.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Even though I am not extremely ecstatic about it, I'm proud to have finished it. I'm glad if you enjoyed it! That's the most important thing by the end of the day—if I can make you smile or entertain you for five minutes, at the very least. The ending is entirely ambiguous. I would have written a proper epilogue, but it somehow doesn't feel right. Fill in the blanks yourself!
> 
> Thank you for my friend Mars for sticking with me, Parker for being my moral support, and renn for being renn. I could not muster motivation for this without y'all!
> 
> Skip this if you don't care for the footnotes and extra details:  
> \--  
> (0) Actually, just wanted to point out that the title is in reference to Nagi no Asukara's ED 1, "Aqua Terrarium."  
> (1) Y'all know chiton was all the rage in Ancient Greece! This is what Herakles wears and, although there are two forms of it, I think it's pretty irrelevant. Men wore it long earlier, but they later wore it down the ankles instead, except in special occasions.  
> (2) Also all the rage in Ancient Greece was golden and silver jewelry and accessories. They're usually worn in sets and came in many different forms like diadems and even earrings in different designs!  
> (3) The palace in the story is loosely (well, pretty heavily) based off the palace of Knossos during the Minoan civilization. It's not quite the palace or castles we're used to, and it's very open. They didn't have gates like the one portrayed in the story. I exercised a bit of creative license and imagination as not much is really known about it.  
> (4) Historians and archaeologists actually debate whether or not a queen or a king actually sat on the throne, or what the throne room's purpose was at all! The throne itself might have been for religious purposes, not political purposes. Interestingly, there's evidence that the Minoan civilization was a matriarchy.  
> (5) The Palace of Knossos, although built in the time of the Minoan civilization, persisted into Mycenaean Greece. The first phrase was written in Linear B meaning "queen," the Mycenaean's written language, and the earliest records of it were kept in the palace. The second phrase means "Helene," in the language as written in Ancient Greek texts.  
> (6) Even more commentary on the palace of Knossos. Another hot debate about whether or not it had royal apartments for the king and queen! Arthur Evans, a renowned English archaeologist of Aegean civilization, couldn't find a room in the palace which was suitable for the queen and king's quarters and concluded it was the queen's megaron, but there is no evidence to corroborate this claim. Moreover, some say there may not be a royal apartment at all, as the palace lacked privacy.  
> (7) Yeah, [it's a bit complicated.](https://worldbuilding.stackexchange.com/questions/36501/how-would-one-destroy-a-black-hole)  
> (8) I'm hoping this is how you say "I love you" in "not modern Greek," but as far as I can tell, it's the same. There are different forms of love, as told by the ancient Greeks, and so different words.  
> (9) This isn't historical, but this footnote just wants to note some implications of TurGre because my friend, Mars, also LOVES that ship.


End file.
